


Lace and Beads and Silk Brocade

by MyMayura



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Bullying, Coming Out, Crushes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Friend Date, Friendship, Reluctant friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26075419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMayura/pseuds/MyMayura
Summary: Ms. Bustier can't seem to accept that Chloé and Marinette have no intentions of becoming friends. It seems, however, that their forced "friend date" might have some positive surprises in store, which are much needed after Marinette's terrible day.
Relationships: Chloé Bourgeois & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Chloé Bourgeois/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 17
Kudos: 292
Collections: August 2020 - Exchange





	Lace and Beads and Silk Brocade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrinceKapitan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceKapitan/gifts).



> This piece is for PrinceKapitan for the August Exchange in the Miraculous Fanworks server! Chloenette is a ship I've only admired from afar before, so it was fun to try out something new. I had a great time writing this, and I hope you enjoy.

🧵

“Ugh, get over yourself, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé says, carefully pulling apart her straw’s plastic wrapping with long, manicured nails. “Do you really think I’m any happier to be here than you?”

Truthfully, Marinette doesn’t care to know the answer, but that’s never stopped Chloé before, and it won’t now.

“Obviously not,” she continues, oblivious to Marinette’s lack of interest. “But at least I’m not giving myself frown lines over it.” She brings a delicate ring finger up to sweep across her brow, as if to make sure that the skin there is still smooth and youthful. Seemingly satisfied with the result, she nods once and pushes her straw into her cup, taking her first sip of the honeydew boba tea she had ordered.

Marinette silently seethes. Of all the things she doesn’t want to be doing today, hanging out with  _ Chloé  _ is about at the top of the list, but of course Ms. Bustier had other plans. She could never seem to let sleeping dogs lie and accept that Marinette and Chloé had absolutely nothing in common and would never be friends. Normally, Marinette can grin and bear it, but today is testing her patience.

Marinette’s own tall cup of blueberry milk tea makes the situation slightly better, but not by much. She stabs her straw into the protective film and takes a big gulp, counting on the sugar to get her through the next hour or so of torture.

“Fine,” Chloé huffs, displeased with the lack of change in Marinette’s expression. “But don’t come crying to me when you have wrinkles all over your pretty face by age twenty-five.”

Marinette chokes. She grabs a napkin, spluttering, and is grateful that she can blame her mishap on an errant tapioca pearl.

The coughing gives her some much needed time to think. Her initial reaction is to dish out a witty comeback, but she finds her mind blank from the shock. Besides, there’s far too much to unpack in Chloé’s comment, from the idea that Marinette would ever run crying to  _ her  _ of all people, to the fact that the word “pretty” was tossed in her direction.

She decides to avoid the statement entirely, not wanting to touch it with a ten-foot-pole. Instead, she moves to the sole topic that she thinks they can both agree on: their dislike of this pointless exercise.

“You know it’s not an accident,” Marinette grumbles. “Putting us together? It was totally—”

“Rigged? Obviously,” Chloé intones. She throws an elbow up on the table and cups her chin in her hand. She takes another sip of her drink, eyelids falling into bored crescents.

Marinette’s brow springs up with further surprise. “You knew?”

“Ms. Bustier can claim it was “random” all she wants, but it couldn’t be more mind-numbingly obvious,” Chloé says. “Alix and Kim, who haven’t spoken to each other since they had their stupid bread eating competition that made them puke everywhere. Mylene with Rose after that misunderstanding that neither of them will stop apologizing for  _ weeks  _ later — seriously, it’s so annoying. And Sabrina and Alya for… sooooo many reasons that I don’t even think I have to explain.” She rolls her eyes. “She’s not even trying to hide her meddling anymore, but it’s not like any of us can do anything about it. We might as well try to get it over with and not be completely miserable.”

It’s hard to fight back the surprise. Honestly, Marinette had been so wrapped up in her own bad day that she hadn’t noticed the other suspicious pairings for the “friend date” exercise. She can’t help but be begrudgingly impressed that Chloé had observed so much.

Apparently, she’s unsuccessful in hiding her reaction. “Surprised?” Chloé asks with an unbearable smirk. “You’re not the only smart one here, you know. I notice things, too.”

Marinette shakes her head, not in the mood to get into an argument. She unzips her backpack. “Let’s just get this worksheet done so we can go home and never think about this again, okay?”

For a split second, Chloé loses her smug expression, but the moment passes too quickly for Marinette to see what replaces it. “Finally. I thought we’d never start.”

Marinette pulls out her project folder and removes the sheet on top, doing her best to press out the crease that has formed in one of the corners. She steals a glance at Chloé’s paper, and it’s still immaculate, of course, shielded by the plastic protector that Sabrina had put it into earlier that day for her.

Marinette just shakes her head again, reaching for a pen before she puts her backpack on the floor. Her hand brushes against her sketchbook as she does so, and her heart pangs, stopping her in her tracks. She lets out a sharp breath that she hopes she can pass off as a sigh and grabs the book, placing it by her left elbow, where it won’t leave her sight.

“Okay, question one,” she says. “‘If you could travel anyplace in the world right now, where would you go?’”

“Well, that’s easy,” Chloé scoffs. “New York, of course.”

_ ‘La ville de New York,’ _ Marinette writes. “Why?”

It takes Chloé a few seconds to answer, but Marinette almost forgets the pause for how confidently she responds, “Shopping, duh.” Chloé taps her nail on the tabletop for another moment before adding, “I’m sure my mother would take me to all the best stores.”

Marinette softens just the slightest bit. She can’t help but feel a little bit of pity whenever Chloé’s mom is brought up, not after she’d seen firsthand how strained their relationship is. “Anything else you’d do there?”

“See a show, of course.”

_ “Mean Girls?”  _ Marinette assumes. It’s all that the musical fans are talking about right now, and Chloé is a Regina George if she ever met one, after all.

But to her surprise, Chloé makes a face. “A mediocre remake that won’t die? Please. That movie is so dated that not even formulaic pop tunes can save it. No, I’d see  _ Phantom of the Opera.  _ I mean, I’ve been dozens of times here already, but they say nothing compares to the Broadway version.”

Oh, yes. Marinette has drooled over the production value many times, especially the costumes.

But Chloé doesn’t need to know that.

“Your turn,” Chloé says as Marinette finishes up writing. “Where would you go?”

“I’d go to China or Italy because—”

“Uh-uh, that’s cheating,” Chloé interrupts. “One place only.”

Marinette grits her teeth. “Fine. Just China then. That’s where I have the most distant family members, and I’d like to explore my cultural roots more. I want to see the towns they grew up in and strengthen that connection.”

Chloé nods and writes furiously, quickly catching up. “What would you do there?”

“In the smaller towns? Visit my mom’s family and see their favorite places. But I’d also like to go to the bigger cities and tourist sites to visit museums and places of cultural significance.”

Chloé lets out a long sigh. “More than one city? That’s still not really fair, but I’ll let it slide so we can finish this sometime today.”

“The question says anyplace, not any city,” Marinette argues back. “A country is a place.”

“Fine, fine, whatever,” Chloé brushes off. “Next question: ‘Do you believe in aliens?’”

“What kind of question is that?” Marinette exclaims.

“Well, do you?” Chloé presses.

Marinette crosses her arms. “Yes…”

“‘Yes.’” Chloé jots it down with an extra flourish. “Any reason?”

“Well, the universe is endlessly large. How could we be the only planet with life when space continues on and on past what we can even comprehend?”

“Space… is… big…” Chloé narrates as she writes.

“Chloé, don’t change my answer!” Marinette protests. “I didn’t say it like that!”

“Chill, Dupain-Cheng.” Chloé lifts the paper to show the whole answer copied verbatim. “Look, it’s all here.”

Marinette grumbles, “You could have just said so.” Her cheeks heat up.

“Whatever, my turn. Yes, aliens are real. I’ve held literal magic in my hands, so that’s all the proof I need.”

Marinette resists the urge to reach up and touch her earrings. “You think the miraculous are alien technology?”

“No, but they’re not exactly earthly, are they? I’m just saying, there’s stuff out there we don’t know about. Ugh, of course  _ you  _ wouldn’t get it. It’s not like you’ve ever used one.”

“You have no idea,” she bites back under her breath, but she writes the answer dutifully. “‘If you had all the money in the world, what is the first thing you would buy for yourself?”’

“I do have all the money in the world; how am I supposed to answer that?”

“I don’t know; make something up,” Marinette says.

Chloé pauses, thinking. “Let’s say front row Jagged Stone tickets. Because even  _ with  _ all the money in the world, they sell out in, like, less than a second.”

“Yeah,” Marinette laughs in spite of herself, writing down the answer. “Believe me, even the cheap seats are gone just as fast.”

“Poor or rich, the one thing that unites us all is Jagged-mania.” Her straw rattles loudly as she sucks the last few boba pieces. “What about you?”

“As much as I love Jagged Stone, I’d have to say a fabric store shopping spree. There are so many designs I want to make that I can’t on a budget.” She scrunches her eyes as a wave of grief crashes over, threatening to bring her to tears. She scolds herself, wondering how she can get out of the hole she’s dug with her answer.

Thankfully, Chloé doesn’t seek any more information on that question, moving onto the next one instead. “Who do you look up to most, and why?”

“That’s hard,” Marinette muses. She lets out a cleansing breath, hoping to push out the remaining squeeze in her chest, but a trace of it lingers. “There are a lot of people I admire for different reasons. Some people inspire me in my field, some people inspire me as leaders—”

“I think it’s supposed to be, like, your personal hero or whatever. The person you most want to be like.”

“My mom then,” Marinette decides. “She has more kindness and compassion than anyone I know, but she knows how to stand up for herself. She’ll do you a thousand favors if you’ve earned them, but don’t even think about trying to take advantage.” A warm smile sneaks onto her face before it fades. “I want to find that same kind of balance in my life, but it’s hard.  _ Maman  _ says it just takes time and patience, but I don’t know if I’ll ever really get there.”

“Well, this one is easy for me,” Chloé says triumphantly. She scribbles quickly, clearly enthusiastic to answer the question.

“Okay, Chloé,” Marinette sighs good-naturedly. “Who is your personal hero?”

“Ladybug!” Chloé sings. “Of course!”

Marinette’s mouth immediately drops into a grimace. “Chloé, be serious. It’s not supposed to be a literal hero. It’s supposed to be—”

“But there’s nothing that says it  _ can’t  _ be an actual superhero,” Chloé cuts in. “And I  _ am  _ being serious, Dupain-Cheng. Ladybug is the best!”

Marinette groans internally, but she doesn’t have the will to start an argument. “Okay, Ladybug,” she agrees. “Why?”

“I mean, it should be obvious, but I’ll say it anyway. Ladybug is everything a person should be. She’s smart, beautiful, brave, and trustworthy! She’s literally perfect.”

Normally, the compliment to her alter-ego would fill Marinette with at least a slight glow, but today, she doesn’t feel like a hero. Today, it only sours her. “Nobody is perfect. Not even Ladybug.”

“Well, she’s about as close as it gets,” Chloé pushes back. “Ladybug has never lost a fight, and she handles every single obstacle with grace. These akumas try to kill her — what? every day? — and even then, she never loses her patience with the victim.” Chloé folds her hands into her lap, shrinking ever so slightly. “I’ve had a few chances to be a hero, and it’s hard. But Ladybug makes it look like it’s nothing. I want to be more like her, but sometimes it seems impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” she manages to say, fumbling with her pen as she writes. “Time and patience,” she tells Chloé, repeating her mother’s mantra.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“And hard work,” she adds. “A lot of things that look easy take time and practice.”

“Like a guitar solo?” Marinette looks up, surprised by the comparison. Chloé points to the next question on the sheet. “‘Favorite musician.’”

“Jagged Stone,” they say in unison, and scribble down the answer.

“He does make it look effortless, doesn’t he?” Marinette asks. Chloé hums her agreement.

“Speaking of which, this should be an easy one for you, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé says. “‘Last creative project you completed.’”

Marinette freezes, heart pounding. Of course Ms. Bustier would ask the last question on earth that she wants to be thinking about right now.

_ Just lie,  _ her brain supplies, but all she can see is dresses.  _ Lie! _

“Of all the questions,  _ this  _ is the one you get stuck on? Why are you looking at me like I kicked Jagged Stone’s non-existent kitten?” For all she wills herself to speak, Marinette’s tongue remains glued to the roof of her mouth. “I’m not getting stuck here all day,” Chloé says, grabbing Marinette’s sketchbook off the table before she can stop her. “Let’s just pick something, okay?”

“Stop,” Marinette stammers, but it’s too late. Chloé has already cracked open the pages.

Her eyes go wide as if she’s been slapped. She turns a page. And another. And another. “Why did you do this?”

Marinette closes her eyes and swallows. This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening.

_ “Did  _ you do this?” Chloé presses. Marinette cracks her eyes open, but her lips remain sewn shut. “No, you didn’t. Who did?” Chloé turns the book around, showing the designs, scribbled out in thick black marker. “Marinette, who did this?”

Marinette looks down at her hands. A tear lands on her knuckle.

“Fucking Lila,” Chloé hisses. The book snaps shut, and Chloé rises, coming around to Marinette’s side of the booth. “Get up, we’re leaving.”

“Where—?” She doesn’t even finish the question before Chloé wraps her fingers around her wrist and pulls her to her feet.

Chloé’s backpack hangs off of one shoulder, and Marinette’s is slung over the other. “Grab your worksheet. And your boba, if you still want it.”

She shakes her head, grabbing the worksheet. She would throw her half-empty cup in the trash, but Chloé has already pulled her from the table, forcing her to abandon it to some poor employee, and with the jingle of the door, they exit the bubble tea café.

“Where are we going?” Marinette finally manages to ask. Chloé is furiously typing on her phone with her free hand.

“I’m calling my driver to pick us up. We are going to the best fabric store there is, and I am buying you whatever you need for every single design in this book.”

Marinette gapes at her. It has to be a cruel prank, a continuation of what has been a terrible day already. She can imagine it clear as day: excitedly picking out fabrics and notions, piling a cart high, only for Chloé to disappear when it’s time to foot the bill, leaving Marinette humiliated. “No. Stop, I don’t want that!”

“But you could—”

Marinette pulls her arm away. “No. Please, no.”

Chloé frowns, tapping her toe against the cobblestone sidewalk. Her phone returns to her purse. “Change of plans, then. Come on.”

“Where now?”

“My room. The hotel is only a minute’s walk from here.”

Marinette scrunches her nose. “Y—your room? Really?”

“It’s either that or talk about  _ this,” _ she says, holding up the sketchbook, “out here.”

Marinette snatches the book back. “No thanks,” she shudders, looking over her shoulder, half expecting Lila to pop out of some dark corner. She stays close to Chloé’s side as they walk the short distance to the hotel.

A stiff silence is wedged between them on their whole walk. It only grows in density, becoming thicker and thicker as they ascend the elevator to Chloé’s room. By the time the door is shut behind them, the tension is threatening to burst.

Chloé strides in with purpose, used to the opulence of her living space, but it takes Marinette an extra moment to adjust to the grand windows and smooth expanse of white marble floor before she follows timidly behind. Chloé leads her to an entryway of roses painted in stained glass, and she comes to a halt, suddenly nervous to enter the bedroom.

“Ugh, come on,” Chloé says. She grabs Marinette by the arm and pulls her to the chaise at the foot of her bed. She pushes her down with surprising strength. “Sit.”

She topples back, caught by forgiving velvet cushions. She rubs the toes of her flats nervously together, watching as Chloé paces back and forth in thought.

Finally, Chloé reaches out a hand in expectation. “Let me see it again.”

Marinette’s first reaction is to clutch her sketchbook tighter to her chest.

Chloé’s fingers twitch inward. “Look, I wouldn’t — well, I have before, but I learned my lesson, okay? The entire aftermath of that whole Zombizou situation was the worst feeling in the world.” Her brows raise unsurely, disappearing under a lock of blonde hair that has come loose. “I won’t damage anything.”

She’s not sure why she trusts Chloé. Maybe it’s because, at the moment, she’s the lesser of two evils, or the fact that the drawings are ruined anyway, or maybe it’s because there is a shocking look of humble sincerity written on her features. Whatever the reason, Marinette finds herself loosening her grip and extending the sketchbook to her.

Chloé takes it with exceptional care, opening it slowly. She turns through the pages with a frown. “Can you still use them?”

Marinette hesitates, then shakes her head. “Not really, but I have a lot saved on my phone thankfully.” She rubs her arm. “I guess I should make sure to back them all up from now on.”

“That’s bullshit!” Chloé exclaims, and Marinette flinches. “You shouldn’t have to—” She stops and takes a deep breath. “I guess it’s better than losing them at least. Why didn’t you say something?”

She shuffles her feet again, stacking one on top of the other, and grips her fingers around the cushion she is seated on. “I saw her slip it back into my bag, but I didn’t have any proof. I know better than to try to accuse her without it; I’ll just make the class angry at me again.”

“What?” Chloé screeches. “This  _ is  _ proof. It’s here, right here! All you have to do is show Ms. Bustier and—”

“It proves that they were tampered with, not that Lila was the one to do it,” Marinette sighs. “Unless I’m ever lucky enough to catch her on film, there’s nothing I can do.”

Chloé pouts, her brows falling heavy over her eyes. She looks at the ruined drawings again, face falling further. “Was this just Lila being Lila, or was there a point to any of this?”

“Alya and I were talking about the end-of-year formal dance, and she said I should design something for myself. I’m sure that’s what caused it.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Lila should have saved herself the trouble. I wasn’t going to go anyway.”

Chloé’s jaw drops. “You, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, were going to skip a school event? Why on earth?”

“Like I said before, I don’t have the money to make something of quality. It’s one thing to buy some cotton or denim for everyday outfits, but once we start talking about lace, and beads, and silk brocade, it’s just not feasible.” Chloé opens her mouth to protest, but Marinette continues, saying, “And before you offer to pay again, that’s not the only reason. I just don’t think I’d have a very good time.”

“In the past, you would have given up an arm before missing a huge class event like this. You even helped organize this one!”

“You’re right,” Marinette says, curling her fingers around her arms, “but things just aren’t the same as they were at the start of this year. Our class dynamic has changed, and honestly, I know Lila will ruin whatever enjoyment I would have.” She shrugs. “It would be one thing if Alya and I could go as friends, but she’s going to be Nino’s date, of course.”

“So?”

“So everyone has someone to go with. Except me.” Hollowness settles in her chest.

Chloé closes the sketchbook and holds it to her body, shifting her balance onto her back leg. “I don’t.”

“You don’t?” Marinette shakes off her surprise. “Even so, you don’t have a target on your back. And I’m sure you won’t have trouble finding someone.”

“You could find someone, too. You shouldn’t let Lie-la ruin this for you.” She clicks her nails together. “You must have had someone in mind.”

“Maybe. Not really. I was thinking of asking Adrien, as a friend, but he’s working himself up to ask his mystery crush, and Luka would go with me, but he has his own class event that night. And with most of my friends having a date to go with already… I don’t want to go alone.”

“You wouldn’t have to go alone,” Chloé presses.

“Well, I don’t see any other options.”

“You…” Her eyes dart away, and her shoulders curve in, suddenly losing their confidence. “You could go with me.”

Heat floods Marinette’s face, like a fire that came too close. “Ahh—ahahaha. What?” Another stupid nervous laugh bubbles out of her, and she knows she must look and sound insane, but she can’t stop it, no matter how she tries.

“You could go with me,” Chloé repeats, a bit more surely, but Marinette finds herself even more confused than before.

“But…  _ why?  _ I mean, you wouldn’t — I — You don’t even  _ like  _ me!”

Chloé grimaces, eyes falling shut. “Okay, first thing’s first: before you say anything else, just listen. I know this is insane, but I’m going to say this against my better judgment.”

“It’s fine, really—”

“Uh-uh!” Chloé snaps at her. “Just let me say this, Dupain-Cheng. Look, you have known me through a not super easy time of my life. It may look like I have everything I could ever want, and I probably seem like nothing but a spoiled brat to you, but I have problems, too.”

Marinette frowns. “I know, Chloé.”

She shakes her head violently. “No, you don’t. There are things I’ve had to figure out by myself. Things that took a long time for me to come to terms with, okay? Please, just listen.”

“Okay. I am.”

“I wasn’t at peace with myself, and I’m still not really there, but I took it out on everyone, especially you. I mean, you were talented, and well-liked, and pretty, and smart, and I didn’t think I could be any of those things. For a long time I thought I hated you, and then I thought I was jealous of you, but it wasn’t that either.”

“Then what?”

Chloé takes a deep breath. “I… was jealous of the people who caught your attention.” Her hands curl into fists. “I guess what I’m saying is… I like girls, okay? And  _ you,  _ of all people, happen to fall under the umbrella of girls I like.”

Marinette sits in stunned silence. It isn’t until she notices that Chloé is visibly shaking that she snaps out of her stupor. She opens her mouth, and only a high-pitched squeak comes out before she tries again. “You  _ like  _ me?”

“I know it wouldn’t seem like it, but when I figured it out, I didn’t know what to do. It’s not like we were friends. I tried to be nicer, I really did, but it was hard to break the status quo.”

Marinette takes a moment to consider that. For all that the rivalry between the two of them had stayed in place, Marinette had noticed that Chloé’s demeanor in general had mellowed out in the past couple of months. Spiteful words between them had turned into banter that was almost playful, and Chloé hadn’t been downright mean since… before she could remember.

She put a hand to her forehead. “Oh my god. I’m oblivious.”

“Well, I  _ was  _ hiding it as best as I could. You weren’t supposed to know. Ever. But then you had to sit there, looking all sad about the dance and I thought someone should ask you, even if it was totally embarrassing and I can never show my face to you again.”

Marinette raises a brow. “I think we’re equal in embarrassment.”

Chloé crosses her arms and looks out the window. “You don’t have to lie. I know I’ve made a fool of myself.” She glances down. “And for the record… I’m sorry. My issues aren’t an excuse for the way I treated you. I’m sure I’m the last person you want to go with.”

“Pretty sure Lila has that spot,” Marinette chuckles weakly.

Chloé smirks slightly, the corners of her mouth soon dropping back down. “Well, don’t leave me hanging, Dupain-Cheng. Put me out of my misery please.”

Marinette looks down at her sketchbook with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, come on! Do I have to ask again? Listen, will you go to the dance with me or not? Just tell me no so I can cry into my pillow and move on.”

Marinette takes a deep breath, and she decides.

She stands from the chaise, removing her phone from her back pocket.

“What?” Chloé demands. “What are you doing?”

“Pulling up my photo album.”

“Why?”

“So you can see the designs the way they’re intended.” Chloé squints at her, trying to find the answer. “You’ll need to choose one today. Two formal dresses will take a lot of time, and they have to compliment each other, of course.”

Chloé turns cherry red, sputtering.  _ “What?  _ You mean — you mean you’ll go? With me?” she adds meekly.

“I can’t turn down that kind of invite.”

“As, like, a date?”

Marinette feels as if she’s warmed five degrees, but her fluttering heart tells her she’s made the right decision. “As a date.”

Chloé’s face splits into a grin. “This is so exciting! Oh, grab your things; we  _ definitely  _ need to go to the fabric store now.” She rushes around her room, transferring her wallet from her school bag into a smaller purse. She stops suddenly. “Just so you know, I’m not trying to bribe you into a date or anything. That would be gross. I just want to show Lila that she can’t get the best of you.”

Marinette smiles. “I know, Chloé. Thank you.” She runs her hand along the spine of her sketchbook, suddenly not minding the damage so much. “It feels good to finally be on the same side.”

And for once, she doesn’t really care what Lila thinks. She can feel fine thread weaving between her and Chloé, binding together to create a delicate web of lace. Maybe, with time, seams will be stitched and edges embellished. 

Maybe, with time, they could become something beautiful.

🧵

  
  



End file.
